What You Take With You
by Scribbler
Summary: Cloud’s always walking away from Aerith, which makes it worse. He leaves her. He flees Tifa. There are other things they can share apart from him, however. Like each other. Cloud/Aerith/Tifa


**Disclaimer:** So very Not Mine.

**A/N:** Fecked if I know where this one came from. It's a lot tamer than it started out, though. Review appreciated!

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_**What You Take With You**_

© Scribbler, May 2008.

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'_It may be that the satisfaction I need depends on my going away, so that when I've gone and come back, I'll find it at home.'_ – **Jalal ad-Din Rumi**

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It's in the press of a body against hers and the roughness of a wall scraping her back, catching the fabric of her dress and making the high collar rise to dig into the back of her neck, because it's winter so they're all wearing more layers than usual. It's in the soft hiss of Tifa's breath, in the calluses of her hands and the way her sneakers scritch unreasonably loudly in the echoey space. It's in snatching a few moments, a stopover before she's gone after Cloud again and needs to know his constant rejections aren't all of who she is.

"Aerith…" There's an edge like crying to Tifa's voice.

Tifa isn't just strong, she's Strong – kick-ass, resilient, tough as old boots but shaped like a pair of stiletto heels. She's still human, though. She still has her heart, which can feel every little thing. She's trekked alone across wastelands and between worlds following Cloud. She's seen things nobody should have to see, including the back of his head as he runs away from her time and time again.

Aerith's seen that too, but Cloud's always walking away from her, which makes it worse. He leaves Aerith. He flees Tifa. He does it for their own good, both of them. He tortures himself and doesn't want to infect them with all the bad things he carries around in his head and heart, but still – he's never run from Aerith.

Perhaps that should make them enemies. Perhaps it should make them eye each other like she-cats, but it doesn't. There's too much fighting already for them to scrap like pre-teens over which of them Cloud likes best – especially when he constantly abandons them both _anyway_. They share that accolade like they share the sky those nights when Cloud and Tifa come back to Hollow Bastion; two girls sitting together on the rooftop and drinking cordial from the castle's cellars.

"Aerith…"

"Shh, I'm here." Warm. Comforting. It's all Aerith knows how to be. "It's all right."

Tifa raises her face. "No it's not," she replies, not broken but not quite chiding. It's more a statement of fact. Tifa is direct and likes to have things made absolutely clear before she punches them into paste.

"All right, have it your way. They're not all right."

They are and they aren't, actually. They won't be until Radiant Garden is restored and Cloud finds some peace for his restless soul, but for now – for _this_ now, a very immediate, just-before-the-pins-and-needles-start-to-kick-in-from-leaning-like-this _now_ – things are all right enough for that part not to matter. It's the kind of small time 'all right' that's in knowing someone else's curves as well as you know your own, and in being able to say 'I mean something to someone he holds dear and I can make her feel better even though I can't do the same for him'. It's not an 'all right' other people would understand.

"Yo, Teef! Ponytail! Where are you?"

They break apart.

"Yuffie," Tifa mutters.

Aerith unties and reties her hair ribbon because her hair is all mussed. Tifa only has to put her gloves back on. They emerge from the hatchway that leads to the cellar, each carrying an overlarge bottle of cordial – strawberry for Aerith (cheering, sweet, sunny), lemon for Tifa (zesty, fierce, powerful). Tifa also has a bottle of whisky slung in one arm for Cid, and probably Leon, but Leon likes having a clear head so it's debatable whether Cid will be on his own with a single malt tonight. Cloud never drinks. He's had a thing about control ever since Sephiroth –

"Teef! Ponytail! Where the hell are you?"

"We're in here, Yuffie," Aerith replies, gesturing that they should place all the bottles on the side ready to use with dinner. A cauldron of something nourishing bubbles on the huge stove. It was Malificent's, but it was a spare she never used for her spells, and the only thing big enough to feed everyone from when they moved in.

Yuffie bounds into the kitchen with puppyish agitation. "Cloud's leaving! And before we've even had dinner!"

From the corner of her eye, Aerith sees Tifa's hands jerk like she's had a tiny electric shock. She sighs. It's never long enough. Cloud is too focussed on what comes next to appreciate what comes _first_.

"Fetch me that knapsack from under the stairs. He can at least take those pasties I made to eat while he's on the road." She doesn't bother entertaining the thought of what she could say to make him stay. Whatever she says, it's not enough anymore.

"Will do!" Yuffie snaps a haphazard salute and takes off.

Aerith turns to Tifa. "You can take some too. And there are canteens you can fill with water so you don't dehydrate." She enters motherly mode so easily. It's another aspect of Warm and Comforting that she's well-practised in. Resting one hand on the worktop for support, she opens the cubby-hole under the giant enamel sink and grubs around inside. "There are apples, and some dried fruit and nuts I was keeping by for you both-"

Tifa covers the hand with one of her own. Aerith pauses and looks up into her face. The leather glove sticks slightly to her skin.

"Time to go," Tifa says sadly. Three words that seem to dominate her life these days.

Aerith nods, wondering whether she could do what Tifa does. It's difficult staying behind and being the one who worries without knowing whether those she cares about are alive, dead or split into Heartless and Nobody under some other sky. But it's a different kind of difficult being the one who goes out and throws herself at danger trying to reach a man who can't be reached even when he's standing right in front of you.

Aerith turns her palm upwards and wraps her fingers around Tifa's own. "I'll be here when you get back." She squeezes. "_Both_ of you."

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_**Fin.**_

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End file.
